Lackluster
by DeadThingsStayDead
Summary: "You keep saying you love me like it will make up for it! Like it will just get rid of everything you did. 'Sorry' just doesn't cut it this time!" Or the one where Keith and Lance's break-up is a mess of screaming, crying and resignation. After Keith leaves, neither of them feel anything but pain. Warning for Language, Cheating, and Angst.


**Hi, so I know the fandom is dying, but so am I, which means no one can stop me.**  
**That aside, this is pure angst with a tiny bit of comfort and that's the way it's meant to be. Also, I wrote this like two years ago, yikes.**

**Please before you start reading, know that this is not, in any way shape or form meant to be bashing Lance - I love Lance so freaking much, but people make awful decisions everyday and sometimes, even the best of them make mistakes. Sometimes the hero of the story does something that can't be explained reasonably, that wasn't meant to indirectly help someone or was forced upon them. Sometimes they have less control of themselves than they think.**

**We can't always be considerate and perfect, especially in situations as emotionally charged as the one below - people can act out and be irrational. It happens.**

* * *

**Lackluster**

For as long as I'd known him, I couldn't remember a single moment when his eyes had been void of his vibrant spark of happiness. It had always been there, swimming in the beautiful sea of his irises, mixed with emotions and life and it had always conjured up an odd sort of reassurance.

Seeing it would fill my chest with hope. The kind that made me believe that anything was possible. Suddenly my anger, fear and isolation were no longer immense walls, trapping me, but simply stains, which could be washed clean with a touch of his hand. With the sound of his laugh. With a glimpse into his eyes.

Sometimes it would be stronger, brighter. Moments, such as ruffling his kid brother's hair would give the blue a soft sheen of yellow, a sparkle of nostalgia. Moments, where he would just stare at the sunset, mesmerized by the colors, would allow a shade of red to settle in his eyes, and it made him look so lost, but in a way that it seemed like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

And then there were the moments, when he would appear at my old apartment door unannounced, bearing take-out and bad movies, and there were colors swimming everywhere and it was so beautiful that it made me fall in love with him more.

Now, the spark was gone. The blue was lackluster, flat, empty. I couldn't bear to look at it, not when I'd seen how different they had been once, so I turned my head away from his face, to stare at the wooden planks of our apartment floor.

Perhaps the missing spark hurt more than what he'd done, after all. Maybe it hurt more, because it reminded me of everything I'd never see again. It tore at my heart.

The anger was back. It prickled in my fingertips, bubbling and scratching underneath my skin, pressing against it, wanting – _willing_ – to break through, even after all the time it had lain dormant.

The fear was back. It settled on my shoulders like a cold blanket, sending shivers down my spine and making swallowing harder, squeezing at my throat.

"Keith? Please, look at me." His voice was so weak. It wavered, trembled like my shoulders trembled. "Please, just… say something."

I could hear the little hiccup in his voice and I could imagine the way his tears slowly trailed down his perfect cheeks and I could feel them, because they were streaming from my eyes like open faucets, too.

"There's nothing to say," I whispered, unable to raise my voice further, because it might've broken in the process.

I just wanted to turn back time. Right up until the point where it had all supposedly gone wrong.

When I'd seen them together, on our bed, and when I'd run out, my thoughts had been running wild. What had gone wrong? _Where_ had it gone wrong?

Maybe it had been meeting her in the first place, because Lance had been smitten with her hair and her aura and her '_aesthetic_' the moment he'd seen her. Back then, I'd assumed it was strictly platonic, and adoration for her looks, because he had me. He had _me_.

Maybe it was just because Lance was the perfect guy, who needed everything and everyone he could get his hands on. Maybe he was just an asshole who liked seeing people's hearts break because of him.

But with the way he was openly sobbing at my feet, desperately trying to get a hold of my hand even though I repeatedly withdrew it from his hold, proved the opposite. Maybe it was me.

Maybe I was just not good enough for this boy. Maybe he'd finally had enough of hacking at the walls I'd built up so long ago.

"I'm sorry! I'm so so-…" he choked on his words, drew in a shaky breath and went on, "Just give me another chance. I can't… Keith, please, just look at me."

I did. Through the blur of tears and the hair that stuck to my face, I could see his expression, so broken and in pain.

There were harsh circles below his eyes, pulling his skin taunt and giving it a hue of sickly green. He looked like he hadn't slept since I'd walked in on him and Nyma the day before. Even his usually flawless hair stuck up at odd angles.

It was so strange, yet so familiar, and the sight of the mess on his head brought back a wave of happy memories. Of waking up on Sunday mornings and staying in bed until noon or of seeing his bedhead just before he'd lean up to kiss me before I went to work.

It would never be the same.

The warmth disappeared when he moved, and reality came crashing back. This was it.

Lance made a grab for my hands again, and this time, I didn't bother ripping them away, but let him hold them, despite the shaking. From the corner of my eye, I saw him reach out to stroke my cheek, but I flinched away. That's the hand he'd been racking through Nyma's hair.

I averted my gaze again. Too many memories connected to that face. Too many good one's that would be ruined if I stared at him too long. I looked at our hands where they lay on the sofa between my legs, the way he had so gently placed his over my knotted fingers.

"What's …" I swallowed my tears, tried to speak passed my closed throat and get the words out, but it felt too tight.

I could see his outline shift from underneath my lashes, placing his weight on his knees now, leaning further in to catch my words.

"What's the point," I choked out and I raised my head to stare at him. Another chance would be nothing more than a waste of time.

Lance's tears flowed stronger once I'd uttered the words, down his cheeks and to his chin, where they dripped down on the obnoxious sweater I'd given to him as a joke for graduation. The tears and the sweater set off an uncomfortable bundle of butterflies in my stomach and I wanted to vomit. Get rid of them, get rid of the feelings. Get this done with. There was no good way to end this anyway, might as well make it short.

"You don't mean that, right? Please… I love you. You mean the world to me. Just give me a chance and I can _explain_._ At least let me explain_." He was begging now, leaning in further, tugging at my hands, reaching up and brushing my hair out of my face.

I shook my head and stood.

"No, I'm not…" I said, shaking my head again. I closed my eyes, tried to get rid of his desperate face, even though it had already firmly burned itself into my memory. "This isn't working out. I just can't do it any–" I choked on the last word.

I stood and took a step toward the door, feet unsteady and hands shaking. There was sweat in the palms of my hands, but it did nothing to bring down the heat in my chest, which burned and constricted, so that my lungs got crushed. Breathing became harder.

I tried to cover it up, thought that talking would make it go away, but the words just made it more real, seemed to deepen the wounds in my heart, like a knife being gradually pushed further into the flesh.

"You'll be fine. You'll move on like you always do. You can see her again." The sobs seemed to intensify, and I could hear Lance wince, but I just kept going, unable to stop, "She seemed… _nice_."

There was bite in the last word. It was packed with resentment and hurt. I wondered if Lance would pick up on it.

He tugged at my shirt, with enough force to turn me back around and look at his face. He looked so hurt, eyebrows furrowed, frown firmly in place and eyes shut tight. He hadn't heard the anger in my voice, too preoccupied with his own meltdown.

"How… How can you say that?" he said, and it was a harsh whisper, that cut through the air like blade. It took me by surprise, so I simply stared at him through the blur of tears, watched as his eyes opened slowly. There was anger in his expression now too, burning and heated, and the spark slowly returned. A twisted version of the one I'd come to associate with Lance and his smile and his happiness. It felt wrong.

"_'she seemed nice'_? What the hell Keith?! I made a- _She_ was a mistake! How can you just accept this, huh?" He was yelling, and it stirred something in me, let the clawing anger under my skin boil stronger and right out through my pores.

"Do you want me to scream at you? Is that it? Will that make you feel better about _cheating_?" I yelled. He didn't have the right to go after me this time. "You keep saying you love me like it will make up for it! Like it will just get rid of everything you did._ 'Sorry' just doesn't cut it this time_!"

"What are you saying?!" he yelled, stepping closer and getting into my space, "Everything? It was _one_ thing. One shitty thing and I know I fucked up big time, but you can't just… You can't just _accept_ it! You're _supposed to_…" He trailed off, his anger slowly dissipating into the cold apartment, shoulders slowly sagging and facial muscles relaxing.

"Are you saying I'm hurting your feelings? You fuck a girl, in _our_ bed, and then you tell me how I'm_ supposed to react to it_. Do you even realize how messed up that is, Lance? Telling me to come crawling on my knees and beg you to stay with me," I snorted, and it choked me slightly, with the tears still running down my face, messing with the melody of my words.

"Do you even know what you're apologizing for?" I'd managed to bring down the volume of my voice to barely above a whisper. The anger was still right there, offering a low growl to the words, but it was more subdued. More under control.

"I'm sorry because I _cheated on you_, Keith, but I didn't do anything else-"

"I've seen you twice in the last month. _Twice_. Once when you were asleep and once when you were fucking Nyma. This isn't how a relationship is supposed to _work_, Lance," I said with a sigh, jamming a palm against my eye to stem the tears. It didn't work.

He looked stunned, hands hovering by his sides with a slight tremble.

"I… I was _busy_. _You_ were_ busy!_ We have jobs, of course we don't see each other as much as we did in college!" he was yelling again, face red and fists clenched.

I was rigid, too. Of course, I knew it wouldn't be the same as before, but this wasn't right, and I was sure he was aware of that. He just didn't want to face the fact that he'd been avoiding me.

I'd noticed in the way he woke up earlier than he used to in the morning. I'd felt it when he started avoiding my gaze when we met up with the rest of our friends. I'd realized it when he stopped calling me back immediately.

"It doesn't mean you can stop making an _effort_! You were actively _avoiding_ me. And if you can't tell me why, then I don't want to hear anything else," I gulped, brushing my fingers through my hair to try and get them out of my face. Instead it tangled and bunched so that my hand got stuck and I yanked at it in frustration.

He breathed in long and hard through his nose, staring at the floor. He didn't look up when he spoke. "It won't help you forgive me," it was barely more than a whisper, but I could hear it nonetheless with the apartment as empty as it was. It felt like it was as apprehensive in seeing how this turned out as I was.

"I don't care."

His eyes met mine and for the first time during our conversation, I thought I might have been the stronger one between us.

"I didn't know how I felt at the time. Guilty, probably. I was so in love with you, and then she showed up and the world was so much more colorful all of a sudden and she told me about all these things- These _new, exciting things!_ The kind I never would have thought to look for if it hadn't been for her. She was so _different_ and I got caught up with that and I made the _worst_ mistake of my life," he sobbed and dragged his hand across his face. "But I know now that it meant nothing compared to what we have."

"What we _had_," I said, fingers curling into fists. "What you threw away."

His words stung. Hearing that he had fallen for someone else while I was there, waiting for him at our apartment. It felt like every letter was being carved into my chest, one by one. Painful and slow, sinking in through the flesh and settling in my heart. All the proclamations of love he'd offered during our conversation felt fake and slimy.

I sighed. I just wanted it to be finished, so I could think about it in peace. Or so I could crawl into a bottle of liquor.  
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," I said, turning away from him and stepping toward the door again. He was right at my heel.

"No, wait, we're not done, Keith! You can't just walk away from this, I need to know what this is between us," he said, grabbing my wrist and yanking me to a stop.

"I don't know," I grit out between my teeth. The anger was rising in my throat again, along with more tears. "I don't know," I repeated, "but I'm done talking."

"I'm serious, you can't leave me here like this. I need an answer. _I need_-" I cut him off with a frustrated whine and yanked my arm free of his hold. I stared at him.

"Do you ever think about what _I_ need?! Because I'm not sure you do. Just… Go see Nyma and be with her," I bit out and saw his face contort to hurt again.

"Stop being so _okay_ with this! Don't try to walk away without dealing with it! This is so unlike you." He took a step back, staring.

"_Stop it_! Stop telling me how to act! You don't_ get to_, anymore!" My breath was quick and erratic, and the tears were streaming like waterfalls again. "Isn't this enough for you?" My voice broke, and so did the last of my anger. It all just felt cold and it froze my defensive aggression until it cracked and crumbled into heaps of misery. "Just because I'm not down on my knees doesn't mean you didn't pull the rug out from under my feet," I said, quietly, looking at my hands.

"Keith, I…" he said, reaching out to touch me, but I side-stepped. His hand fell back to his side.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore, Lance. I just want out," I muttered, resting my hand on the door handle. I only stopped when he spoke up once more time.

"I… I'm sorry. I know this is my fault and I ruined everything, but I still_ love you_. I love you so _fucking_ much and it breaks my_ heart_ to see you walk away like this," his breath caught for a second. Two. Three. "Please don't go."

I could hear his broken sobs when I walked through the door and when it shut behind me, I stopped trying to stop my own. They poured out of me, ugly and wet and so painful. My breathing was fucked, and my heart was pounding to my ears and I couldn't control the shaking of my hands.

Somehow, after trying for what felt like hours, I managed to get Pidge on the phone.

* * *

I was sitting on the sidewalk outside our apartment when they arrived in their beat-up green Golf. Through the windshield I could already see their confusion as well as their slight annoyance. I'd tried my best to cover tears on the phone, but as I'd sat there waiting, in the cold and on the pavement, everything had come rushing back and the tears were back and the breathing hitched.

"Do I_ really_ have to come get you?" Pidge yelled from the driver seat, since I hadn't bothered moving from my spot. They probably couldn't see me from their vantage point.

The door slammed shut behind them and they came trudging around the hood of the car. They were wearing their usual beanie and their huge glasses I'd always adored. I would have smiled at them, because their familiarity was comforting, but I wasn't in the right state of mind. In too deep with other things.

"I can't believe you-" they stopped walking when they finally saw me.

They were only frozen for a second, anger dissipating immediately, before they gingerly sat down at my side and it was so_ Pidge_ that the tears came harder. Their eyebrows furrowed in worry, so that they almost touched in the middle and their glasses moved when their nose crinkled. They only glanced at the building one time and then gave me their undivided attention, placing their arm around my shoulders gently.

For a minute or two, we sat in silence, only my breathing and sobs ripping through it occasionally.

They didn't know what to do or what to say, but they didn't have to, because all I needed was someone who would sit on the cold pavement with me at two in the morning. I couldn't have asked for anyone better.

"Do you want to talk about it?" they whispered, leaning their cheek against my shoulder so that I could rest my head on their hair.

I just shook my head and wiped at the tears. They had dried at some point. I didn't have any left. Things had just gone numb at some point.

"Want to make popcorn at my place and throw the ones that don't pop at the hole in my wall?" they squeezed my shoulder when they spoke, and it sent warmth through my body. There was a gentle smile on their face, not the grin they usually donned when conducting their little mischievous acts.

"Yeah." I tried for a smile as well, but it felt strained and my skin stretched uncomfortable where the tears had been flowing on my cheek.

The car ride was silent for the most part, except for the quiet jazz filtering in through the radio. It was peaceful, watching the streetlights streak through the passenger window, seeing them all blur into blobs of color. At some point it all turned into an all too familiar blue that used to take my breath away and now just stung my heart, so I turned up the music and closed my eyes.

It helped little. It just gave my mind time to imagine Lance in that moment, maybe still on the couch in the living room, staring at nothing in particular. Maybe he had called Hunk over. I hoped so. He shouldn't have to be alone either, even if it was just sitting next to each other.

My mind drifted to times we'd done exactly that. Times like when we'd been too exhausted from work to do anything else, where we would just sit on the couch and… Relish in each other's company.

But that was over now. No dwelling. No point.

Pidge parked the car in the campus parking lot, removing the keys and killing the radio with it. I saw them glance over at me when I opened my eyes. They got out and quickly ran around the front to open my door as well.

The way they extended a hand and pulled me out of my seat made me feel old for some reason, but it was oddly comforting. They seemed to notice, because they didn't let go until we were inside their dorm room with the door locked behind us.

They'd sat me down on their bed and dug out the junk they liked to call a microwave from underneath the bed, which seemed to be a hassle, considering the huffs and grunts.

"Got it!" they finally said, sliding back with their knees and promptly banging their head on the bottom of the bedframe. The sounds made me flinch and slide off the bed to sit next to them, while they rubbed their hair and cursed profusely.

"You okay?" I whispered after a while, and they waved it off, not so gently setting the microwave on the ground and plugging it in.

They stayed quiet for a bit, busy with popping in the popcorn and smacking the machine to get it to work and my mind was drifting again. I couldn't help it, it was all just too fresh and there was too much to process and I just…

"He cheated on me," I said, and Pidge flinched, before they turned around to look at me.

Their face was contorted in a mix of anger and sadness and hurt, and they inched closer and wrapped their arms around my neck. I closed my eyes. It felt warm, and warm was all I needed right then.

"That's fucked up," they whispered, and it coaxed a surprised huff out of me. It took them a moment to realize that it was an insensitive thing to say, although I wouldn't have been able to do any better had I been stuck in their shoes. They still went stiff for a second, before adding a mumbled, "Sorry."

Their hands rubbed my back in small circles like they always did when they were trying to show support. I'd never been on the receiving end of it, and only then realized how comforting it was.

"What a fucking _dick,_" Their voice was steady and firm, but I could feel the trembling of their hands on my skin. I couldn't tell if it was from anger or some sort of secondhand betrayal, because no one would have ever imagined Lance would do something like that. It was like a punch to the gut.

I stared the wall for a bit. Tried to keep myself occupied and distracted from… Him. So I counted the small dents in the cement, some of which I was familiar with, others that had been there before Pidge had gone to college.  
I'd barely counted half of them, when the microwave dinged.

I watched Pidge pour the popcorn into a bowl, hissing occasionally from the heat radiating from the little grains that touched their flesh. My vision swam.

I didn't see Pidges oversized sweater anymore. The green designs on it disappeared with it and so did the unruly hair. Instead of them standing there and grinning at the grains of corn in their hands and getting ready to throw them at the hole, I saw _him_.

Lance, blue shirt and pooka shells hanging from his slender neck. I could see the happy grin on his face as he threw the corn at the wall. There was a thud when he jumped up and down in excitement, before passing the bowl to me. I didn't take it.

I was lost in Lance's blue eyes, the swirls of navy and the shock of turquoise that surrounded his pupils. His lips were pink and small and innocent, as if they hadn't been the very same that had confessed to infidelity not too long ago.

Something touched my shoulder, and I flinched.

It was Pidge. Their eyebrows were furrowed in worry and their fingers tightened where they were buried in my shirt. With their free hand, they were holding the bowl of corn.

"Keith?" They sat next to me on the floor, placing the bowl to their feet. "You okay?

"No."

* * *

**Honestly, I've been in a situation like this before and it's messy and awful, no matter how much you love the person you're talking to. Sometimes you just need to do what is best for yourself, even if you might not want to, and it's a difficult decision to make.**

**But that's okay.**

**-Z**


End file.
